Stumble (Fiction)

Clouds hang low in the sky, erasing the moon and stars. The wind swirls around me, my teeth chattering as I tuck my face further into my scarf. Florescent signs burn my eyes, harsh colors highlighting libations and welcoming those of age. The door protests as I yank it open, hinges groaning.

Inside, warmth wraps me up, relaxes my muscles. Smoke hangs heavy in the air, sticking to my clothes and sewing threads in my hair. In the corner, the jukebox croons, the clang of pool balls echoing an accompaniment. I make my way to the bar and climb onto an empty stool.

Familiar blue eyes greet me as I survey the room. My heart sinks as I take in the stubble shading his cheeks, the disheveled mess of his hair. He stumbles as he maneuvers through the other patrons, sending a wave of amber crashing to the floor. A half lit cigarette hangs from the corner of his mouth, smoke billowing in my direction.

“Jacob.” The dance begins, the same steps we always take, moving in time to the same old tune. I can tell he’s had quite a bit to drink already, his musky cologne laced with the bitter hint of alcohol.

“Mia.” His eyes crinkle, lifted by a mischievous grin. “They’re playing our song.”

“You say that about every song that jukebox plays.”

“Maybe. It could be our song, though.” Affection tugs at the corner of my mouth.

“You flatter me.”

“I try.”

An ice cold martini appears, three olives lounging in the glass. The bartender winks, tips his head.

Beside me, Jacob’s leg jiggles, a habit he’d developed after the accident. His eyes glaze, far away.

“Jake.” My fingers find the rough stubble on his cheeks, turning his face toward mine. “How are you?”

His jaw tightens at the worry that crowds my tone.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not.” I take a sip of my drink, relish the burn in my throat as I swallow. “Jake, don’t lie. You look like hell. Talk to me.”

“I’m not here to talk. I’m here to drink.”

“That’s healthy.” A dark laugh rumbles in his chest as he lights up another cigarette.

“Hypocrite.” My eyes narrow as he tips back his glass, finishing his beer in one swig.

“Jacob.”

“Mia.” He leans in close, his breath sour and smoky. “Spare me the lecture. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Let me take you home.”

“I’m not ready to go yet.” He sways on his seat, placing a hand on the bar to steady himself.

“I think you are.”

“What the hell do you know?” His stubborn response snaps my patience, a whip lashing my insides. Venom coats my tongue.

“I know that drinking yourself to death won’t bring her back. I know that you need to deal with your grief before it drowns you.” Tears prick my eyes as his face pales. “Jake, please. I care about you. Let me help you.”

“You want to help? Leave me alone.” The stool scrapes the floor as he pushes himself up and heads for the door.

“Jake!” He doesn’t slow. I swallow hard, cursing the blaring music and jovial banter around me. I slide a few bills underneath my glass. The crowd at the pool table fist pumps and high-fives as I pass through, muttering pardons as I go.

In the darkness, I search the parking lot. Panic stirs in my stomach, guilt invades my thoughts.

I’d gone too far.

I shouldn’t have brought up his daughter. I shouldn’t have pushed him, especially not when he’d had so much to drink.

A muffled cry cuts through the night air. My eyes land on a hunched figure, half hidden in shadows. His shoulders rise and fall in quick succession, a rhythm composed by the sobs that wrack his chest.

“Jake! Oh, Jake, I’m so sorry.” My arms wrap around him, tears slashing my skin.

Flickering lights illuminate the grimace on his face as he turns to bury his head in my chest.

“I didn’t mean it,” his whisper promises. “Don’t leave.”

A sigh heaves in my chest.

“I won’t.”